Numbing The Pain
by 1katiemariee
Summary: When Sherlock jumped off the roof of St Bart's, John's life went down hill. He turned to alcohol and drugs, anything to numb the pain of losing his best friend. But when things go to far, will Sherlock come back and save him? Post-Reichenbach. Rated T for drug and alcohol use and mentioned violence.


_Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock! Even though I'd like too._

* * *

_Beep, beep, beep._

The beeping was the only sound coming through the small, white hospital room where a raven headed man sat with his head resting in the middle of his arms on a hospital bed.

_Beep, beep, beep._

It had been a week, one endlessly long week since he first came into this room, refusing to leave until the occupier of the bed woke up from his coma.

_Beep, beep, beep._

The man couldn't believe he'd done it. The once innocent soldier who blogged about his wild adventures with his best friend had turned to this.

_Beep, beep, beep._

He couldn't believe Dr John Watson had overdosed.

__xxxxx

_1 year earlier._

It had been a week since Sherlock died, John didn't know what to do with himself.

_So he'd turned to drink._

It numbed the pain for a while, cancelling out the horrid memories he had to go through every single moment of his life. They never stopped, even in his sleep, if anything sleep made them worse. Everyone visited him. Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Mycroft, even Harry, though most of the time it was just to join him in getting drunk.

He lost his job at the clinic, he always ended up being late, even then he was drunk. Mrs Hudson stopped asking for rent, knowing he couldn't pay it but not wanting him to leave. He may have been a drunken mess but she couldn't lose him as well as Sherlock.

After a while, he turned to drugs. Just the small stuff at first, ecstasy and meth but then it wasn't enough, he need something stronger, something to block out the pain completely.

_So then he turned to heroin. _

No one said anything but when he wasn't high, John knew they were disappointed in him. Lestrade didn't arrest him. Mrs Hudson didn't complain about the mess he left. Only Mycroft tried to talk to him but those turned into arguments only ending by John either punching Mycroft or injecting heroin causing Mycroft to leave. The last encounter ended up being both.

_John was sat in his chair, a bottle of vodka held in one hand and an empty syringe in the other. he'd just come down from a high, now planning to get drunk and erase the pain for the rest of the day. He'd just got the lid off his vodka bottle when Mycroft walked in._

_"Well, look here, someone just got high" _

_"Fuck off, Mycroft" John spat, taking a long drink from the just walked to the chair opposite John, knocking all the empty bottles and syringes onto the floor before sitting on it._

_"You really think this is the way to deal with it, drinking and taking drugs." Mycroft lectured while John glared at him over the top of his vodka bottle. "Sherlock wouldn't have-" _

_Before Mycroft could finish his sentenced, John and walked over, grabbing the collar of his shirt with one hand, the other still holding the bottle which spilt its contents on his jacket as John swayed, unsteady on his feet. _

_"DO NOT PLAY THE 'HE WOULDN'T HAVE WANTED THIS' CARD WITH ME!" John screamed, his face close to Mycroft's. Mycroft pushed John away and he fell to the floor with a thud. _

_"Get out" John growled, his voice dangerously quiet. Mycroft made no attempt to leave the room. "GET. OUT!" John said again, louder and more aggressive. _

_"You can't keep doing this, John. You're thr-" Once again, Mycroft didn't get to finish his sentence but this time it was because John had punched him in the jaw which resounded in making a loud crack. He stumbled back words, regaining his balance before silently exiting the flat._

_John slid back into his seat, throwing the half empty vodka bottle onto the floor before pulling another syringe out and piercing his skin. He leant his head back as the drugs worked its way into his blood stream and sent him into emptiness._

xxxxx

It had been 5 months since Mycroft last returned and John's life had gone even further down hill. Lestrade and Donovan turned up at his doorstep to arrest him, even worse, he was high when they did. Apparently, Lestrade's boss had caught on to what John had been up too since his friend died and ordered them to arrest him immediately. Later that day, having the torture of sobering up in his cell and having to relive the horrors he got bailed out, and has his luck got even worse, it was Mycroft who did.

John had ignored him straight away and went back to the flat, only to find out that his whole stash of vodka and heroin had gone, leaving a note in its place.

_You have to stop doing this, John. Like I've said plenty of times, Sherlock wouldn't want this! -MH_

Grumbling at Mycroft, John got the last of his retirement money and went out to be a fresh batch of drugs and alcohol to help him through the next few months.

It was now 10 months since Sherlock's suicide and John had run out of cash, drugs and alcohol. Itching for more he turned to stealing, from his friends, shops, dealers. He got beat up more times than he could count, a fresh cut at least once a week, usually more.

Mycroft gave up trying to persuade him to stop, Lestrade persuaded his boss to leave him alone as it was no use and Mrs Hudson started to give him money. She knew it was just feeding his habit but she couldn't stand to see him even worse.

Soon enough, the one year anniversary of Sherlock's death came round. John planned to inject as much as he could with over dosing and then drink away the rest.

_But this plan failed..._

_xxxxx_

_Beep, beep, beep._

John could hear a steady beeping coming from beside him and another hand grasping his.

_Beep, beep, beep._

He couldn't remember what happened. He remembered getting out of bed, grabbing his bottle of vodka and stash of heroin then sitting in the chair. That's when it clicked, he must have over dosed.

_Beep, beep, beep._

Was he dead then? He wished he was, then he'd be with Sherlock and wouldn't having face all his friend's disappointment.

_Beep, beep, beep._

He had to be dead. No one alive would hold his hand while he was in a coma. Opening his heavy eyelids he saw the blurry out line of a room, a hospital room to exact and the steady beeping was a heart monitor.

Turning his head to the side, he saw a head of raven curls rested in crossed arms on the hospital bed and he reached out his hand to stroke his hair. He was dead there was no doubt about it. If he wasn't, how on earth was Sherlock Holmes sat with him.

As soon as his hand touched Sherlock's head, he sat up like a shot.

"John!" John just looked at him, weakly. Sherlock took no notice and plunged straight into an explanation.

"I'm so sorry! Moriaty, he had people ready to kill you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade if I didn't jump. I couldn't let that happen. So I had to fake and then kill Moriaty's web. I had Mycroft check up on you, I knew everything but I couldn't come back, I had to finish it so you were safe. When Mycroft said you'd over dosed and they didn't know whether you'd make it, I didn't know what to do so I came, I had to be here if you woke. I knew I'd gone too far, I'd nearly killed you again. I'm sorry, John" John was speechless, did Sherlock Holmes just apologise?

"Am I dead?" Sherlock just looked confused.

"What?"

"Am I dead?" John repeated. Sherlock shook his head.

"No"

"Then why the bloody hell did you not come to me sooner?!" John shouted, he couldn't believe it. He knew everything that he went through this past 12 months. Drinking, taking drugs, getting arrest, beaten to a pulp every week and he did nothing. Bloody Nothing!

"You knew everything I went through. Everything! And you just sat there and went by, not even letting me know you were alive, stopping me from throwing away my life even more but you didn't. YOU JUST LEFT ME TO ROT!" He screamed at him, all his pent up emotions coming out at once and he couldn't take it anymore.

_He broke down. _

His entire body racked with sobs, he couldn't take it any more. The pain of losing Sherlock, numbing the pain just relive it again when he came round, finding out Sherlock wasn't actually dead. Something just snapped inside of him and all he wanted to do was go into Sherlock's arms and cry, just know he was actually there, with him.

Attempting to move, he lifted his torso to be greeted with an intense pain. Groaning he flopped back down and settle for gripping Sherlock's hand as tightly as he could.

"Please don't go" He whispered, feeling like a small child but not caring. He'd just found out his best friend, the man he loved, was still alive and he need him to be next to him. SO he knew it wasn't a dream.

"I'm not going anywhere." Sherlock stood up, leaning his head towards John's to kiss him on the forehead, John's eyes fluttered closed at the touch of Sherlock's lips on his skin.

"You promise?"

"I promise"

* * *

_A/N: Whoo! First ever Johnlock fic! Even if it is angsty. I hope you liked it! I can't believe it took me this long to write one, even if I only just started watching Sherlock about a month ago. Imma slow writer... :P_

_If anyone thinks Sherlock's a little OOC, I think he would've been like that. We all know Sherlock has a heart, even if he doesn't show it often, and I think if John is in a situation where he could die any second, like it's shown in The Reichenbach Fall and The Great Game, he would actually show that he cares. So yeah, that's why I had him acting like that. _

_Reviews are very welcome!_

_Katie-Marie x_


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